Updates:

First and foremost, thank you all for your wonderful feedback and thoughtful reviews/messages. I never left this project, however, I did not intend to take such a long hiatus. Truthfully, I lost some of the notes for this story and it bummed. me. out. Recently, while moving, I found all my notes! Over the last couple of months, I've been working on refreshing the storylines and some chapter drafts.

I apologize for the shorter chapter. I wanted to get a chapter out into the world. The next one is a big one and I am hoping to have it by the end of the month. This summer I will have lots of time for new chapters.

I recently put together an Instagram for anyone interested in following and receiving more updates:

Cheers! - Bez

The callous wintry winds blew against the rickety boathouse as it creaked in protest. Scott rummaged through the various tools scattered around inside. He had just finished restoring the old black wall vent stove nestled in the corner of the main living area of his cabin. The ancient stove just needed a good cleaning and it was ready to be brought back to life. This would allow him to heat the cabin during the colder months so he could continue the restorations inside during the slower season.

Scott was determined to cut down some of the dead trees around the cabin. They needed to come down out of the safety of the structure and he needed a heat source to feed the stove. It was easier to accomplish this while some warm daylight lingered and before the snow began to fall across the camp.

A good ax was needed to execute his plan and he didn't feel like asking Logan to borrow his, like a neighbor coming by for a cup of sugar. He doubted Logan would be the hospitable type. The last thing he needed was to owe the tawdry man a favor of any sort, they seemed to have struck a mutual distance that worked well for them both. The boathouse was a good place to start looking for any spare tools and it was a lot closer to his cabin than the maintenance barn across the camp.

His eyes landed on the prize he sought and he picked up a sturdy spare ax that was tucked behind some various wood planks stacked up against the wall. He brushed off cobwebs that clung to the wooden handle. It had a good weight to it and didn't look dull enough to cause him any significant problems.

He turned to lock up and a couple of loose leather straps hanging from a hook on the wall caught his eye. He picked up the smooth strips and ran his hand over the ambered hide. He brought it to his nose, the thick smell of leather confirmed these were genuine. They had a familiar look about them, surely he had seen these before. His eyes scanned the small room.

A memory of his encounter with Logan's threats flickered across his mind. It brought a smirk to his typical concealed demeanor. There was something in his chest that swelled, a good feeling, a feeling of growth. He had come far from the timid lost boy who arrived at the camp by chance. He was beginning to feel that his encounter with the camp wasn't by chance, but a fate that life had waiting for him all along.

Ah. The oars to the rowboat rested neatly near the door. The oars had leather strips around them for grip. His attention shifted back to the leather strips in his hand and he had decided that they were just scraps left over from when they repaired the oars. He shoved them deep into his pockets and proceeded to lock up.

Dried leaves whirled and tumbled across Scott's boot as he walked through the woods and back to his cabin. He was thankful for the thick fleece pullover that kept him warm against the brisk air.

As he approached the cabin, a familiar figure stood in front of the wooden a-frame.

"Remy," Scott gave a friendly acknowledgment, "What brings you out to the woods?"

The Cajun turned to Scott, "Mon Ami! Don't ya t'ink I am wonderin' da' same about you?"

Scott grinned and adjusted the brim of his hat, the two men staring at the cabin in front of them, "This is my project. I've mentioned it."

"Non!" The Cajun had a wild look in his eye, more than his usual perplexing stare, "W'en someone says project, I t'ink building a bookshelf, not a whole house."

"To be fair," Scott walked up the steps of the wooden deck and motioned for Remy to follow, "I didn't build it. I'm just fixing it up."

The men entered inside, their footsteps and voices echoing through the empty room. "So this is where ya been sneakin' off ta every night?"

"Pretty much," Scott set the wooden ax down next to the black heating stove in the corner of the room. He wiped his hands off on the front of his pants and picked up two beer cans sitting in a half-empty 12 pack box by the door. The temperature in the cabin was cool enough without heating yet to keep the contents in the can somewhat refreshing still.

He tossed one to Remy and they cracked their open in unison. Remy walked around the room, looking at the freshly installed pine cabinets on the back wall of the room.

"Dis is gud work," Remy ran his hands along the surface of one of the cabinet doors, then proceeded to open and close one, "You done work like dis before, no?"

"A little bit, I got some work fixing up cabins down south not too long ago. I've just been trying to apply what I know and read up on the rest," Scott sipped on his beer, taking a moment to look around the room as well. He had a tendency to focus on the task at hand, he rarely remembered to take a step back and admire his hard work.

Remy flicked an ancient rusted light switch on the wall with no response, "How'd ya' plan ta' get dese lights workin'?"

Scott shrugged, "I don't have a great plan yet," he laughed at himself.

It felt good to talk about the cabin with someone else. Emailing about it with Jean was always something he looked forward to, but they felt like fairytales of another person's life. Having Remy in the space made it all feel more real and tangible.

"I might start with the library, it turns out there's some useful stuff between the pages of those old books," Scott motioned to the stack of books sitting in the corner. Each title had a topic of some sort of home repair. He had checked out anything he could find that might assist him with the cabin. His routine weekly hardware store run usually consisted of a stop at the library first, picking ideas off the shelf the best he could.

The Cajun gave a cautionary whistle, "Merde! Dat is a gamble. An' a gud way ta' start a fire,"

Scott's amused expression hinted that the Cajun was probably right, "Got anything better?"

Remy nodded and took a drink from the can, "Here's my idea, Remy will do it. I am not gud at much, but I am good wit mah' hands."

Scott raised a brow and started to protest the generous offer but Remy was not going to have any of it. Besides, he was right, it was probably too big a task to take on without much prior knowledge.

"Mon Ami, we haven't talk'd much 'bout Remy, like we don't talk much 'bout Scott."

Scott knew exactly what he meant. Both men managed to get along and have an unspoken agreement that their past was not important. It seemed to be a theme around here. Charles had a knack for collecting misfits and making them feel like they mattered for once. Scott had a sense that Remy also felt like he belonged after a long period of searching.

"Listen to dis, before I found da' kitchen, I lived a tough life on da' streets. Dey raised me. T'ankful dat cooking saved me, but befo' dat, I was part of a street gang. We didn't harm nobody but we took dere t'ings. I am not saying it'was right...sumtimes t'inkin' 'bout it keeps me up at night," Remy pause to take a sip from the cool can.

Scott wasn't sure if the shadows from the setting sun were playing games or if Remy's eyes had become darker as he looked through Scott and into his past. He remained unphased though, they all had their pasts. He has had his own experience being in the corner of life and having to do what needs to be done to get by another day.

"So da gang, we took care of each 'udder," he continued. "W'en sumone had sumd'ing, we all had sumd'ing. When nobody had nuddin', we all had nuddin', and dats the way t'ings were."

Scott was always focused on putting distance between him and his past, as if making it feel far enough away would wipe it from history. However, life didn't work that way. He admired how Remy not only spoke so openly about his experiences, but somehow could separate the good from bad, and even pull out valuable life lessons. The damn Cajun fortune cookie strikes again.

"Wat I am gettin' at is dis, Remy has worked 'lot of odd jobs he'uh and dere," He continued, "During da' night, we would do da' devils' work. But da'daytime is not de same. We still had ta' try and get gud honest money, da' streets didn't always provide. Dere were a lot of us livin' in a warehouse down in Nawlins'. Mon ami, Pierre, was a damn gud card playa' but an even betta' electric guy. He got Remy set up wit a job helping him run wires in a big new condo type buildin' in da city. I don't have no certificates or anyt'ng, but Remy can handle dis petit project."

Scott decided not to acknowledge Remy exposing his past, hell, he probably shared with him knowing that there wasn't going to be a follow up press conference with a flurry of questions.

"But, I don't have much to pay you right now-"

"So?" Remy shrugged this time, "Brotha', 'dis not 'bout payment. Remy has ah roof, full belly, cold beer, and gud company. W'at more cud' mo'ney bring?"

Scott simmered on the idea, he really couldn't expect Remy to volunteer his own time towards Scott's own responsibilities, but he could tell it might crush the Cajun if he continued to resist. Then he remembered walking into Charles' office, advocating for more help, and Charles graciously accepting the proposed offer. Perhaps there was a lesson here for himself this time.

Scott finished the cold beer and the empty aluminum echoed in the room as he set it on the counter. He lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair in thought, "That is very generous of you. I can't help but feel I wouldn't be where I am without the constant handouts."

Remy shook his head, "Lagniappe."

"Layn-what?" Scott was unsure of what his pidgin speaking friend had just said.

Remy grinned, "Lagniappe, dis word we use back home to mean more than expected. We know we ain't got much in the world, but we got ne'vah endin' geno'rosity," Remy narrowed his gaze, "It ain't 'bout handouts, Scott. Life brought you sum' gud' folk, Lady Luck is smilin' on you, Ami. Play the cards when you have them."

His words seeped into his bones like the cool evening air setting in, "Alright. I suppose I could use a hand," he was reluctant but in agreement.

"Laissez les bons temps rouler!" Remy jubilantly exclaimed.

Scott reached for his notepad of scribbles on the counter and flipped to a new page. He tapped the pen on the notebook before setting it down and sliding it across the counter to Remy, "Here, use this page to make a list of everything you need. I can gather up what I've got laying around here and get the rest from around camp or the hardware store in the morning."

Remy nodded and immediately turned and started knocking on the walls and examining where the existing switches and lights were.

Scott sunk his hands into his pockets to warm them up. His fingertips brushed the soft leather in his pocket, "Remy," Scott cleared his throat as the other man walked the length of the room and ran his hands along the wall, "So, you know all about jewelry and stuff?"

Remy remained silent for a moment, Scott unsure if he was in thought or concentrating. It was uncomfortable to hedge on the idea that Remy used to be a pickpocket.

"Vous c'uld say I liked shiny t'ings, I will tell you dat much," Remy turned and winked. "But, dat was ano'der life. Long ago."

"Right," Scott said slightly embarrassed, "I didn't mean it like that," his voice trailed off, ready to abandon the conversation. He squeezed the leather in his pocket, "But, if you're up for another project, I might have a small one I want to commission you for you. Whatever the cost, I'll pay it. You seem like the right man for the job."

Scott rose before the sun the next morning. The previous night he was up late with Remy, who was insistent to start working right away. Before the two men retired for the night, Remy had already marked up some of the walls, advising Scott to go down to the studs and replace most of the drywall. The cabin wasn't big, with only two main areas, upstairs and downstairs, so two sets of hands with experience would be able to get the job done rather quickly.

He was the first person in the hardware store, carefully going over Remy's listed supplies and directions. Once his cart was brimming to the top with tubs of compound and adhesives, finished checking out then loaded up the slates of sheetrock in the bed of the truck. He drove home carefully, trying not to disturb the materials in the back on the bumpy road back to the cabin.

By the time he returned, Remy had busted out the old walls and started marking up the areas he thought would be best to run the wires. All Scott had to do was come in and approve where he wanted his outlets. Scott could tell Remy enjoyed this type of work. It reminded him of watching the Cajun in the kitchen, who always seemed content creating with his hands, whether it was food or fixer uppers.

The two men spent the rest of the day hard at work. Remy went about his electrical work and Scott began drywalling. Classic rock tunes echoed through the empty rooms between the smears of compound, sanding down joints, and the constant whine of the drills. Together, they had made more progress in six hours than Scott had projected for the next month. He had to admit, having a second set of skilled hands brought fresh stamina to his project.

Jean kicked open the door to her apartment with her foot as she managed to lug in her work bags, groceries, and a couple of small packages she had to pick up from the quaint brick-lined lobby. Her cell phone was propped between her shoulder and ear as she sought to not drop the device or lose it in her red wavy mane.

"Grandma Jo has only been here for like three hours and I already don't know how I am going to survive the next week sharing a room with her," Hank's sensationalized familiar tone was on the other line.

Jean snickered as she dropped her keys in the bowl on the small table by her door and kicked off her shoes, "Sharing a room?"

"Ugh, Yes! Can you believe it? I am pretty sure my sister is faking this sickness thing she's got going on just so I have to share my room with the old crazy woman instead of her," he huffed, "If I have to listen to one more story about Cocoa, Bubbles, or Beezlebub…"

"Who?" Jean dumped the mail on her kitchen counter and looked at the small brown box with no sender information on it.

"Oh, her cats, so many cats!" Hank buzzed on about the current complications of his holiday break.

Jean grinned, thinking back to crisp Michigan leaves she got in the mail earlier that fall. She quickly sliced the seal on the top and reached into the tiny package. Her fingers wrapped around a felt smooth box. This wasn't what she had expected.

She pulled out a velvet feeling box and swallowed hard. She wasn't prepared for such an elaborate gift. She didn't know what was inside, but she could tell from the countless shopping trips as a child with her mother, there was something shiny and expensive inside.

She opened the lid and the bits of light hit the stones and sparkled back at her. She slammed the top shut.

"Jean? Hello?"

"Uh, hey," her surroundings flooded back to her as she felt lost for a moment, "I'm here, sorry, I was in the elevator and lost service for a second," she fibbed.

She picked up the box and searched inside for more information. No sender, no note, nothing. It was unusual but the only person who had mailed her anything personal since her arrival to Seattle was Scott. Yes, it was a flattering gift, but it wasn't like him. It wasn't his style. Let alone, wondering where he could have even begun to get the money for such an intricate gift.

"Elevator? So you stayed in Seattle?" Hank questioned the redhead.

She habitually shrugged even though he couldn't see it, "Yeah, the cross country travel is just a lot, you know. Plus I have my coffee shop shifts I should stick around for."

Hank snorted, "Yeah, the coffee shop. Sure, Jean." They both knew she was avoiding going back. "So, what does Miss Grey have planned for her west coast Christmas?"

Jean hesitated to answer. She wasn't sure if telling the truth would lead to a flurry of annoying questions she wasn't sure how to answer.

"Scott is visiting," she blurted it out before she could go back and forth anymore in her mind.

There was an audible noise or shriek of some kind from the other end, as predicted.

"Okay, settle down," she couldn't help but grin to herself hearing it out loud even with all the dramatics.

"Oh honey, now why did you let me go on about my insufferable gram gram for so long when we have much more pressing things to discuss?" Hank was offended and excited all at the same time. "What is all of this about?"

Jean bit at her lower lip, "Uh," she wasn't even sure where to start, "He came a couple weeks ago…"

"Jean Elaine Grey."

"I meant to tell you! I just have been really busy and finals were kinda insane," she stumbled over her words.

"Explain yourself, sister," Hank cleared his throat, "I sense you didn't tell me because of your school nonsense, just like I know you didn't lose me on the elevator just a minute ago."

Busted. Hank knew Jean so well, she forgot that she could keep little hidden from him and surprised she had managed to hide her current life updates this long.

She took a deep breath, there was no use fighting it, "We ended the summer really close. Scott surprised me," she felt the nerves in her lips slightly tingle just letting his name pass against them, "He's really a great friend."

"Aaaaand?"

"So, since I knew he was kinda a loner, and I was too, I invited him to Thanksgiving," she knew this wouldn't satisfy the snoop on the other line, but it was enough to keep him at bay for now, "As any good friend would."

"Oh," Hank gave a coy chuckle, "and how is this...what did you call it, friendship going?"

Jean rolled her eyes so hard she was sure Hank could feel it, "It's going fine."

"Well I'd say that, honey! Clearly, he's coming out for Christmas. Was this your doing as well?" Hank had his gossip voice in full swing.

"Yes, I guess," Jean laughed, "It's not a big deal."

"Oh Miss Grey, I think you like this boy…"

Jean sat in the silence for a moment. Her initial instinct was to deny it, but her heart told her he was speaking the truth.

Hank didn't wait for her to reply, "There's nothing wrong with being attracted to someone," his tone was softer with her, "Does he know?"

"Know what?"

Hank huffed, "That you care about him."

"Ugh, Hank, I don't know," she rubbed the felt box with her thumb, "I would assume? We had a couple of moments…"

"Oh?"

"Nothing major," Jean brushed off any possibility of a juicier conversation, "But like, I feel really calm around him. I think he feels the same around me. We are different, so different, but also the same. I can't explain it."

For once, Hank was silent. Jean had to check her phone to make sure the call hadn't dropped.

"It's all complicated," she continued, "He's working at camp, I am out here at school. What happens when the holidays pass? Will it all still be the same?"

Hank hushed her small spiral of panic, "Girl, you've got to tell him."

"Tell him what?"

"That you love him."

Jean nearly dropped the velour necklace box in her hands, "No…"

"No, you don't love him, or no you won't?" She could imagine Hank with a hand propped sassily on his hip right now.

She wasn't sure how to answer, "I don't know."

"Good gracious, emotions don't need to be this difficult," Hank lightened the tone, "Look, Jean, there's a lot of shitty parts of life, like a lot. We both know that. But girl, when something good comes along, don't start playing the 'what if' game. The fact you even fear it ending, says a lot more about how much you want to keep him in your life."

Jean sat in the thick of the silence, he was right.

"If you're afraid of him rejecting you, well," Hank snorted, "That's never going to happen. I saw those puppy dog eyes keep tabs on you all summer. Besides, he also agreed to all of this, so you're not alone in your feelings. He's not an idiot."

"No, he's not," she was quick to defend him, "He cautious, takes his time to think things through, I'm just worried he's a little more practical."

"More practical than...you?! Have you met yourself?"

Jean laughed. Maybe Hank was more on the money than she realized. Maybe that's why Scott sent her something sparkly, thinking the early Christmas present would be a sign of his feelings. Her heart buzzed. He didn't need to do anything to buy her love. He had won her over just by being who he was. Just him being near was enough.

"I'll think about it," She finally breathed, "I'll see how the next couple of days go, and I'll see if it's the right time."

Hank seemed somewhat quenched in his persistence, "Just give into what feels right. Don't do so much thinking. Just lead with your heart."

If only it were that easy.